Post by Gentleman George on Aug 25, 2024 22:17:16 GMT
The scene opens with George Thompson standing in the middle of the ring, dressed impeccably in his sharp suit and bowler hat, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. His manager, Lady Victoria Winchester, stands beside him, offering a confident smile as George raises the microphone to his lips.
“Ah, the rabble have arrived. How delightful. For too long, the sport of wrestling has been tainted by charlatans and common brutes, men who treat the squared circle like some back-alley brawl. But not anymore. Not while I, Gentleman George, stand before you as the standard-bearer for this prestigious promotion, the King George VI Wrestling Club.”
Thompson pauses, his piercing gaze scanning the crowd, dripping with disdain.
“Do you imbeciles even understand the history you’re witnessing? The legacy of British wrestling, dating back to the Admiral-Lord Mountevans rules—the very foundation of our sport—has been entrusted to me. Harry Linacre and Fred Foreman, they understand that what this noble institution needs is not just a champion, but a figurehead. A man with sophistication, class, and a mastery of this great sport. Not a brute. Not a barbarian. But a gentleman.”
He paces slowly, deliberate in his movements, with the cane in hand tapping lightly on the canvas.
“While others fight for mere spectacle, I wrestle with purpose. The rules of the ring are not some quaint relic of the past—they are the laws that separate the athlete from the animal. And make no mistake, as the face of King George VI Wrestling Club, I shall enforce those laws with the same precision that I bring to every wrist-lock and suplex.”
Thompson smirks, his arrogance palpable.
“Edwin Luntley may have fumbled with his misguided ambitions in Zimbabwe, but I assure you, the true revival of British wrestling begins now—with me. The King George VI Wrestling Club will not be a mere echo of the past. Under my leadership, it will be a shining beacon of excellence for the Crown and Commonwealth. And when you think of wrestling—when you think of the face of this historic promotion—you will think of Gentleman George.”
With that, Thompson lowers the microphone, his sneer barely hiding the confidence of a man who believes every word he says. The boos from the crowd echo in the arena, but Thompson stands tall, unmoved by their disdain.
“Ah, the rabble have arrived. How delightful. For too long, the sport of wrestling has been tainted by charlatans and common brutes, men who treat the squared circle like some back-alley brawl. But not anymore. Not while I, Gentleman George, stand before you as the standard-bearer for this prestigious promotion, the King George VI Wrestling Club.”
Thompson pauses, his piercing gaze scanning the crowd, dripping with disdain.
“Do you imbeciles even understand the history you’re witnessing? The legacy of British wrestling, dating back to the Admiral-Lord Mountevans rules—the very foundation of our sport—has been entrusted to me. Harry Linacre and Fred Foreman, they understand that what this noble institution needs is not just a champion, but a figurehead. A man with sophistication, class, and a mastery of this great sport. Not a brute. Not a barbarian. But a gentleman.”
He paces slowly, deliberate in his movements, with the cane in hand tapping lightly on the canvas.
“While others fight for mere spectacle, I wrestle with purpose. The rules of the ring are not some quaint relic of the past—they are the laws that separate the athlete from the animal. And make no mistake, as the face of King George VI Wrestling Club, I shall enforce those laws with the same precision that I bring to every wrist-lock and suplex.”
Thompson smirks, his arrogance palpable.
“Edwin Luntley may have fumbled with his misguided ambitions in Zimbabwe, but I assure you, the true revival of British wrestling begins now—with me. The King George VI Wrestling Club will not be a mere echo of the past. Under my leadership, it will be a shining beacon of excellence for the Crown and Commonwealth. And when you think of wrestling—when you think of the face of this historic promotion—you will think of Gentleman George.”
With that, Thompson lowers the microphone, his sneer barely hiding the confidence of a man who believes every word he says. The boos from the crowd echo in the arena, but Thompson stands tall, unmoved by their disdain.